The Boy In The Bed
by TheMinxy6
Summary: Haymitch ends up in the Games Clinic after a particularly drunken evening in the penthouse arguing with Effie. However, a glance in his medical notes makes him see a certain escort in an entirely new way. . . HAYFFIEFEELS.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **Back again Suzanne. DIDYAMISSME?

**A/N: **Ok guys. Seriously. I need to simmer on the fics. I have horrendous exams in a month. . . OHNAW. These Hayffie Feels are. . . uncontrollable. *CRAZY FACE*

This will be a three-parter lads and ladies, I've pretty much written the other two chapters anyway so there won't be a long wait for them. . . Hope you enjoy! :) (Also, if my medical notes are inaccurate, I apologise. . . I did a bit of poking around on the net so fingers crossed).

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**The Boy In The Bed**

_"You're an animal, Haymitch Abernathy!"_

_"And you're a joke! A cruel, sick joke!"_

_"You've told me this all before, and it's tiresome now."_

_"Don't you walk away from me!"_

_"You can't even stand up properly; I'd like to see you stop me. . . I'll be back in here anyway, no doubt picking you up when you've passed out on the floor. You've never taken care of yourself."_

_"Why do you even care?"_

He grunted as he pulled the device off his arm, swinging his legs off the bed. His blood pressure was higher than it had ever been, the doctor had told him. Haymitch had only rolled his eyes as he felt a sickening throbbing in his head, the doctor shaking his head as he'd presented the victor with a slip of paper. They both knew he'd still be drinking as soon as he got out of here.

"They're still alive, your two." His tone was unimpressed.

Haymitch glared at him, his eyes fixed on the other man's head as he flicked through his medical file, before placing it back on his bedside table. Haymitch had no idea how he'd ended up back here; clearly he'd gone completely overboard on the drinking last night to warrant a trip to the Games Clinic.

The doctor left, and he winced in pain as the door slammed shut. He rubbed his forehead, letting out a long sigh- a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding- desperately racking his mushy brain for any semblance of a memory of last night. He opened the slip of paper, wondering what prescriptive drugs he could be expecting now.

_GROW UP._

Haymitch's mouth curled up in a sneer as he stared at the door, screwing up the small bit of paper and throwing it where the doctor had stood.

He mashed his lips together as he remembered being on his fifth or sixth drink at dinner last night, ignoring Effie's disapproving glares as he'd repeatedly summoned the Avoxes over to top him up. Haymitch had watched her expression; drinking more just to spite her. He'd gradually slumped so far down in his chair his eyes were barely at table level. He'd drank through that though.

He groaned as he remembered shouting at Effie about god only knows what. _Her hair. Her attitude. Her stupidly tall shoes. . . The Games. The Capitol. Her. _For some reason she always got the brunt of his drunken outbursts; she infuriated him no end; but it was increasingly ending up with him feeling guilty the morning after. He didn't like her being upset with him, and he didn't know quite why. That in turn, of course, infuriated him more.

They'd ended up in some sort of showdown in the main living area, her eyes burning like the sun as she'd stood there, outraged. Eventually, she'd stormed off to her room, and he'd followed her and continued his yellings, slumped up against her bedroom door. She hadn't responded. She was always the better one in these situations.

He'd kicked her door down during one of their rows a few years ago. His drunken fury had been pulled away from him like the air in his lungs when he saw her sat there. No Capitol mask on, a book in one hand, her bespeckled eyes fixed on the Games. It had stunned him completely; she was beautiful, and he'd been trying to see her like that again ever since. Of course he had never just asked her, so instead he tried to recreate the scenario in which it had happened. . . which started with him getting blind drunk.

Another time when he'd sat outside her room, shouting abuse until the sun cracked over the city, he swore he heard a sniff from the other side of the door, and his stomach had dropped like a stone. He'd skulked off at that point, ashamed and a lot more sober.

Haymitch squinted in concentration, his eyes suddenly opening in revelation as he rolled up one of his sleeves- a deep bruise running along the outside of his forearm like a purple rash. The injury was positioned as if he'd held up his arm up to try and shield his face.

Ah. Yes. He remembered now. She'd thrown a vase at him. She really had been furious.

He honestly couldn't remember if he'd tried to throw anything at her, or back at her depending on the chronology. He grimaced; if he was drinking in District 12, he'd be apologising to his broken furniture. Here, it was nearly always Effie. Neither of them really did apologies though; two incensed, stubborn people with their horns infinitely locked. If he ever did say sorry it was always strained, and she would accept it quietly, a frown on her face- or if he was a lucky- a weak smile.

Haymitch felt the urge to vomit, although he wasn't sure if it was from his raging hangover or an expression of general displeasure at himself.

He hadn't been back to the clinic in years, and the whole place made him feel queasy, and closer to death than anywhere else: his own personal purgatory. He closed his eyes for a second, remembering the operating room further down the corridor with its great, glass wall. . .

Haymitch let his eyes settle on the small window, the Capitol sky grey and overcast. It was one of those days where he wondered whether the sun had actually risen at all. His mind drifted to the arena, wondering if they were seeing the same sky he was.

The last time he was in here was a few years back, when he'd got so drunk he'd managed to fall down the flight of stairs in the penthouse suite and nearly cracked his head open. . . he'd apparently tried to blame Effie for distracting him whilst there was blood pouring from his forehead. She was even more annoyed when he'd pressed his hand to his forehead, then his bloody hand to her ankle as she stood above him. Her little white silk socks ruined.

She'd still helped him though, hauling him into an upright position as he'd thrown up onto the carpet. He'd felt warmth flood through him as she'd rubbed his back, waiting for the medics to come and take him to the Clinic.

Haymitch had come back later the next day, his head all bound up. He'd fallen asleep in one of the big, white, egg-shaped chairs in the living room, drowsy from the painkillers. He'd woken up, his vision blurry, but he could have sworn Effie had been watching him as she sat on the sofa, the Games on in the background. He still didn't know if it was the drugs playing tricks on him or not, but he swore he saw hurt glint in her eyes, her face grave.

The moment came as quickly as it went though, and she picked a glass of water up off the coffee table, shoving it and more painkillers into his hands before leaving the room.

The time before that. . . well. His intestines had been falling out of his body, and he was unaware that his family were being slaughtered. The only people he'd had for company then were the surgeon and his daughter; nuturing him back to health. He'd spent days with that little girl, playing with her, listening to her read to him at the Clinic. It was the last time he'd ever felt truly cared for. They'd even accompanied him to the train station when he was forcibly shipped back to District 12 by the Capitol, the man with his arm around his little girl on the platform as they sadly waved him off, tears in her wide eyes. Haymitch had one hand clutched onto his paper bag of drugs and bandages, the other pressed to the window as he watched them vanish into the horizon. He'd swallowed as he'd let his forehead fall against the glass, eyes closed, the skin on his stomach was red and sore where the doctor had been forced to remove the stitches minutes before he was bundled off back to poverty.

_You need to wake up, please. _

He remembered clambering off the high-speed train, every face in District 12 yelling his name and cheering as he waved half-heartedly into the crowd. He wasn't good at it- being the happy and convivial tribute bringing honour to his District. He wanted to be at home. Sleep. Sleep and forget.

He clutched onto his bag of medication a little tighter.

The crowd dispersed when he walked off to the Victor's Village, and he spotted the one house with little glowing windows. He grinned as he sped up, his heart beating that little bit faster when he thought of his family, breaking into a hobbled run as he covered his stomach protectively.

He flung the door open, the grin wiped off his face within seconds. His girlfriend's mother stood by the dwindling fire. Tears. There weren't even any bodies to bury.

Every day and night had been the same from then on; each minute bled dry in his new house as he paced around- sober and crazed. Alcohol soon took over, and the sun and moon had blurred into one; every dull surface weeping red as if he was looking down at the children he'd murdered. He would stand at the dirty window of the kitchen like a ghost. . . his house the graveyard he haunted.

He would stare out bitterly into a cold, empty village. Alone. Always alone.

Being a mentor for the Hunger Games at least gave him some annual structure and contact with human life. . . before the two children of the group inevitably died. It drove him further into the ground every year, but he liked the quietly intense presence of Cinna. . . and the less quiet and far more intense presence of Effie.

Haymitch tore his eyes away from the dull skyscape, his sight falling to his palms as he tried to rub some feeling back into them. He should probably go back to the penthouse, rustle up some sort of apology to the headstrong peacock no doubt strutting around trying to clean up the destruction left by him. Actually see how the kids were faring. God he was useless.

He reached across to the side table, picking up his plain, metal cuffs, rolling down his rumpled sleeves and trying to do them up. Haymitch growled in frustration, his large, rough hands refusing to cooperate with the small, shiny lumps. He gave up and shoved them in his pocket. Effie would help him do them. He visibly winced at her increasing presence in his thoughts.

He really did need to find her. Apologise properly. Haymitch couldn't cope with her blanking him; he'd much rather she was squawking at him about the new lace boutique or her vintage ocelot fur shawl or _Seneca Crane's incredible beard._ That bloody beard.

Haymitch was by the door when he had a sudden brain wave, the struggle of such a mental endeavour in his state a near miracle. He narrowed his eyes in thought, before turning on his heel and walking back to the small table in his room, picking up his file and leafing through it.

He wanted to see what that obnoxious Capitol doctor had written about him, probably some joke about his drunken reputation for the next doctor to read when he, no doubt, ended up back here. That jumped-up, white-coated imbecile wasn't going to get that satisfaction. He flipped to the last page, sorely disappointed when he found only details about his alcohol blood content level, his behaviour and his prescription: _N/A. _

Huffing to himself, he turned back a few pages. The end of his Games medical report. _Haymitch is showing rapid signs of recovery, particularly with the advanced medication I'm giving him, he should be well enough to return to District 12 within the week. The primary injury at the abdominal cavity is healing without any signs of infection. The possibility of non-infected peritonitis originating from gastric juice has also been averted . . ._

He kept flicking backwards, noticing how thorough the reports were, written in a long, elegant scrawl that covered everything from physical damage, short and potential long term psychological trauma, medication and the doses, the operation techniques. . .

_After 28 hours, Haymitch awoke from his coma. Disorientated and noticeably distressed at first, he was soon calm and was responding well to the medication. It took him several hours to remember the final moments of the Quell, and even then does not remember anything between the end of the Games and being transported here. . . having suffered such trauma some memory loss is not unexpected. . . _

His mouth quirked up in a smile when he saw a line written along the bottom in green pencil: _He is doing much better._ A little smiley face was drawn next it.

He furrowed his brow as he studied the penmanship, letting his fingers brush across the faded hand writing. Haymitch felt his heart ache a little; the boy on these papers did not know how much his life had changed. . . all the simple things he'd wanted in life snatched away from him. He'd won. Killed to win. It wasn't enough.

He turned to the front page, eyeing the big Capitol medical stamp on the front of the report. Haymitch was about to close the file when a name caught his eye; he felt his heart stop beating in its hollow cage, his blood still in his veins.

_Trinket_

_Dr Egidio Trinket_

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**A/N: **Prepppaaareeeee to be transpooorrrrrted back in tiiiiiiime for ol' schooool Hayffie Feeeeels. (I'm so sorry. . . my brain right now it is GAH). Minx xxx


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **Just busy having a ganz with Suzanne's characters. Hope you don't mind, lovely lady.

**A/N: **Hey ficcers! Here's the second chapter- a bit longer than I anticipated but IT HAPPENS, right? Right. I'm so tired right now my eyes are burning out of my face, so please review if you have a mo. so I can wake up to your wordssss.

Also, to an anon who sent me a message on tumblr regarding this fic: DON'T PANIC.

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She woke up to the annual commotion, the tag on her father's wrist beeping as the two minute countdown timer appeared, every light in the Clinic blaring to full. The man leapt out of bed, quickly flinging his blue scrubs on over his pyjamas and running out into the corridor and into the operating theatre. He washed his hands thoroughly, snapping on his gloves just as four Peacekeepers entered carrying a boy on a stretcher. He was motionless, torn up and covered in dirt, the wound on his stomach a mixture of red, pink and brown- of blood, tissue and organs.

The bedroom door was ajar, and the little girl peeped through, watching her father through the glass on the other side of the corridor as he got to work on the boy, his robot counterpart handing him the relevant equipment.

With her bare feet on the pristine white floor, she crept across the threshold and pressed her hands to the great, glass wall of the operating theatre, looking at the boy hooked up to endless tubes and wires: an insect in the centre of a web.

After half an hour, she rubbed her tired eyes and sat down cross legged on the cold floor, pulling her long night gown over her feet. She watched silently as her father bent under the bright light- the faceless angel covered by a mask as he hovered around the boy's body, every angle analysed.

It wasn't until the third hour she went back to her room and brought her duvet out, wrapping herself in it like an inuit as her eyes never shifted from the surgery in front of her, her father's elegant hand holding fine thread.

She fell asleep on the floor during the fifth hour.

She didn't know what time it was when someone roused her a little, picking her up off the icy floor, "How's he doing daddy?" She asked sleepily, the tall, dark haired man pushing the hair from her eyes.

He spoke quietly, "He's fine sweetheart. Hopefully he'll wake up soon. It's time for you to go back to bed though. "

She didn't reply as he laid her down to sleep, her breathing already deep and peaceful. He kissed her forehead, smiling down at her as he too collapsed on his own bed, exhausted and frightened.

*0*0*0*0*0*

She'd wolfed down her breakfast, grinning with her cheeks full as she licked the butter off her fingers. He cleared away the plates as he raised an eyebrow at her; she wiped her hands and face on the napkin accordingly.

"Can I go and see him?" She asked, galloping after him as he paced down the short corridor.

"No, not yet."

"Ok, can I go play outside then?"

The man suddenly stopped, kneeling down in front of his daughter and gently taking her hands, "You know we have to stay in here until he gets better."

"I just don't get why we can't even go outside." She said, sticking out her bottom lip.

He sighed; an impenetrable sadness in his eyes, "I'm sorry gorgeous. It's only for a little while, like every year. You'll be able to go outside soon enough. Why don't you do some skipping?"

She pulled a face, before relenting when her father looked at her imploringly, "Ok." She nodded softly, and he kissed her cheek.

Walking steadily down the corridor, she turned and went into a small, bland room, most of the space taken up by the two beds. She picked up her skipping rope from the basic wooden cabinet, before returning to the corridor. She glanced through the glass into the operating theatre, still as a statue as she was momentarily soothed by the steady beat of the heart monitor, the boy not yet awakened.

Her father went into the office, but she could hear him on the telephone as she moved up and down the corridor.

"_Look, I've done all I can. . . He's a strong boy, but he went through hell and back in that arena I'm surprised he made it through the operation. . . Yes, I understand it would cause much unrest if he were to die but I don't think you're understanding the severity of his injuries. . ._"

She frowned as she skipped away from the office, tripping as the rope caught her foot. She only hoped Haymitch would wake up soon.

*0*0*0*0*0*

She spent most of the following day dancing in the corridor, her eyes closed and humming as she let her arms float around, spinning and stumbling. She hid in the bedroom when the Peacekeepers came in and checked on Haymitch. She did not like them. She noticed when they'd gone they'd left the door to the operating theatre ajar, and with her father on the phone. . . the temptation was too much.

She walked into the room slowly, her eyes fixed on the skeletal puppet of a boy laid out. He'd been so large and strong at the Reaping. She knew all of the tributes had been hungry and dehydrated in the arena. . . and he looked like he'd been rinsed dry.

Crawling onto the arm chair next to the bed, and taking his hand into her own, she noticed how rough they felt. It felt like holding a strip of bark, his fingers like spindly branches.

"You were very brave Haymitch. My father doesn't let me watch much of the Games, but he let's me watch the Reapings and the interviews. . . I knew from the start you'd win." She stated matter of factly, "You had those strong eyes. And you're handsome."

She bit her lip as she looked down, suddenly embarrassed.

Her voice was a stage whisper, "Normally the victors aren't that injured when they come see my daddy after the Games. They're a bit scratched, but we've all left in a couple of days. You're the worst one so far."

She felt her eyelashes becoming damp, and she leant over to his ear, _"_You need to wake up, please. I don't know why. . . but my daddy's more scared than he ever has been before. We might not ever leave this place if you don't. . ."

She looked at his scarred cheek for a moment and kissed it quickly without a thought, and the boy simaltaneously started coughing violently. She yelped, jumping back into her chair in shock, his face twisted in pain as he waited for his body to settle with shuddering breaths, before letting out a pained moan. Haymitch looked completely drained, his hand coming up to brush the binding bandage on his stomach, retracting his hand with a hiss as an aching pain spiked over his body.

"Don't touch it, Haymitch!" A little voice exclaimed, and he slowly turned his head to find himself looking into the blue eyes of a little girl. She had a tight hold of one of his hands, leaning over and with her own free hand she flicked his long hair out of his eyes. She couldn't be more than six or seven years old.

"What happened?" He moaned, his voice hoarse from lack of use.

Her face scrunched up as she watched him in subdued agony. She released her grip on his hand and picked up the cup of water on his bedside, kneeling on her chair as she fed the straw into his mouth. He sucked at it gratefully, a sigh of relief as he closed his eyes.

"You got hurt really bad by that girl from District 1."

His face crinkled in concentration, "I. . . I won?"

"Yes." She grinned.

He heard the smile in her voice, and he smiled back, "I'm guessing you weren't the one that operated on me." His eyes still closed as he breathed deeply.

She giggled, "No. . . that was my daddy."

"Where is he?"

"I think he's still on the phone talking to the Head Gamemaker. He doesn't like speaking to the Gamemakers."

He looked at her through heavy lidded eyes, her head cocked to one side as she studied him, "Are there no other doctors?"

She shook her head, her long blonde hair tousling around her face, "Only one doctor is allowed after the Games for victors. . . something to do with costs my daddy said. They always make me come too though. . . or whatever family the doctor has. We can't leave until you're better."

Haymitch didn't like the sound of that for many reasons. He grimaced, his eyes flicking over his arms- one wrist bandaged, more stitches on the other. He didn't even want to know if there was any damage under the sheet.

He turned back to the little girl to see her looking at him curiously. He held her gaze, her blue orbs so bright and naive, "What's your name?" He whispered, his voice drying again.

Without needing to ask she offered him the straw again as she answered his question, "Euphemia. It means _well spoken._"

"That's a nice name."

She wrinkled her nose, "I don't like it much."

Her facial expression made him chuckle, and he winced in pain as his abdominal muscles tensed and flexed with the laughter, "You could shorten it?"

A man burst through the door, his hair a little wild as his eyes fell on Haymitch then his daughter, "Haymitch, you're awake! How are you feeling?" The man sounded breathless and a little crazed, quickly checking all the tubing and monitors.

"Sore. But ok. Thanks doctor."

"Good. Excellent. Good. And please, it's Egidio."

The doctor pressed a curved, black contraption to his foreheard, and it read his temperature in a split second, a green number flashing up on the screen, he then checked his eyes, shining a torch into his pupils. Egidio seemed satisfied.

"I can't remember much. . ."

"That's completely normal, don't worry. Some of it will probably come back."

"Do I want it to come back?"

The doctor smiled at him sympathetically.

Euphemia had sunk into her chair a little, biting her lip as her father finally turned to her. Her eyes met Haymitch's briefly before she looked up at her father, who was shaking his head, "You know you shouldn't-"

"I know daddy, I'm sorry. The door was open and I was just. . . talking to him and he woke up."

The doctor sighed, "Ok. Come on angel, Haymitch needs his rest if he wants to go home soon."

She slipped off the chair and he ushered the little girl out of the room, who turned over her shoulder and smiled sadly at the boy in the bed.

*0*0*0*0*0*

The sun had only just broken across the horizon when he woke up, the dull light seeping through the cream blinds.

"You're back." He said, watching as she marched across the room and sat in her chair.

"Yes I am. Daddy said I could." She told him smugly, "I've got stories for you today." She held three books up proudly, fanning them out in her hands, thrusting them towards his face.

He lifted an eyebrow, his eyes blurred from sleep, "_Moon Boy. . . The Violet Dusk. . . _and _Thaddeus_."

"They were my favourite books when I was little. And I can read them, easy peasy. Although they seem a lot shorter than when I was younger." She said, dropping the books onto the large chair and walking back across the room.

"Things seem different when you get older."

He tried to crane his neck a little, wondering what she was up to, "What are you doing? I thought you were reading me a story." He teased.

She pretended to look annoyed as she glanced over her shoulder back at him, "In a minute! You need a new bandage on that wrist." She said rolling her eyes dramatically as she clambered onto the red arm chair, which dwarfed her completely,

He eyed her sceptically as she gently lifted his wrist, steadily unwinding the soft bandage, both of them retracting a little as they looked at the wound underneath. He remembered just being caught by one of the Career's knife as he'd dodged a stabbing in the abdomen. If he only he knew what was coming to him, he thought ironically.

Euphemia descended from her seat and came back with a small bottle from a drawer, Haymitch letting out a low hiss as he poked the edge of the cut- inflamed and oozing.

"Don't touch it!" She admonished, tapping his hand away.

He looked out her incredulously, but couldn't help but grin. She was a bossy one.

He watched her as she focussed on her work unswervingly, her hair pushed back by an alice band as she carefully placed three drops of the bottled liquid into his wound. She carefully started binding the bandage round his wrist.

"Do you know what you're doing-?"

"Shhh."

"I better not lose a hand!"

She narrowed her eyes at him, drawing the final knot a little bit tighter, and he yelped out.

"That hurt!" Haymitch said, his eyes sparkling in amusement at this little girl.

"I could redress a bandage before I learnt to tie my shoe laces!" She said prissily, a satisfied grin on her face as he rubbed his wrist.

"So, which story are you reading to me first?"

"Ummmmm." She said her finger tapping on her chin in thought, "You pick."

"What's _Thaddeus_ about?"

Her face lit up, "It's about a man with a heart made out of stars, and he's made to put his stars in the sky so people have something to watch in the dark. He's very brave because he does it even though his heart grows weaker, and people don't care but . . . I don't want to spoil the rest!"

"Sounds perfect."

She settled back into the chair and flicked open the first page of the book, clearing her throat loudly, her voice happy and clear like a bell.

*0*0*0*0*0*

Nights were the worst. He couldn't sleep anymore, every shadow imprinted on his retinas, chilling him to the bone. He wanted to scream, rip his hair from his head and beg for someone to take away what he was steadily remembering. . . it was torturing him.

Instead he gulped, sniffed and squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to concentrate on his breathing. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. . .

Haymitch could feel the tell-tale liquid building in the corner of his eye, running down his temple and into his hair as he stared at the ceiling.

He wasn't the least bit surprised when he heard bare foot steps echo in the corridor and his door open. Her father must have given her the pass code to get in by now. He wiped his eyes quickly.

"Hey." She said nervously, edging into his room.

"Can't sleep?"

She shook her head, her fingers rubbing the material of her night gown.

"Better get into your chair then."

Her heard her sigh in relief, the sound of scrambling soon following.

Haymitch turned to face her, Euphemia's smile suddenly falling away, her eyes wide, "What?" He asked.

"You've been crying." She said sadly, seeing the puffiness around his eyes, the salt tracks down the side of his face glittering in the moon light.

"Is it the Games?"

Haymitch turned away, spacing out.

"It happens a lot here, with the victors. . ." Her voice peetered out, "Do you miss your family?"

"I just want to go back to my district and see them. It feels pretty lonely here for me. . . I keep seeing things and . . . "

He paused, forcing a smile onto his face, "You keep my mind off it though."

"Good. I like talking to you."

Euphemia fell silent, and her mouth quirked to the side as she thought, trying to change the subject. She liked to think she was good with people, but sometimes she felt like she always said the wrong thing.

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

"Yes." He smiled softly.

"Is she lovely?"

Haymitch laughed a little, "Yes, she is."

Euphemia smirked, "You're not as nearly as bad as people think you are. It was funny though when you said everyone was as stupid as ever in your interview."

"And look who's still standing." He said humorously, although his eyes did not execute the comment.

He analysed her for a second, a chirpy little smile fixed on her face, before it suddenly dropped away at his intense study.

"What?"

"You're nice, for a Capitol girl."

She pulled a face, "Are Capitol girls not nice?"

He let out a breath of a laugh, "You remind me a little of the girls back home."

"In what way?"

He looked at her again, her glossy, golden hair, her unmade face and her simple blue gown. "You just don't look like the rest of the girls your age here in the Capitol."

"My daddy doesn't like the way people dress here. Especially the really rich people. He thinks parents treat their children like pets." She suddenly looked alarmed, clasping her hand briefly to her mouth, "Don't tell anyone I told you that."

He shook his head gently, "I won't."

"Sometimes I feel a bit uncomfortable at school because everyone looks so. . . crazy. I don't have many friends."

"I don't either. It's ok."

She looked down at her hands, her fingers fidgeting in her lap.

"Do you wish you were like them though?"

She paused for a second, before she whispered, "No."

"Well then, don't change for them. Don't do anything you don't want to."

The light in her eyes danced in the dark as she grinned at him, before clasping her hands together in excitement, her whisper loud and excited, "Can we play that game you taught me again yesterday? The shadow puppets?"

"Ok." He smiled, and her gaze followed his hands when he transformed them into a bird's wings and flapped them upwards.

*0*0*0*0*0*

"Stop laughing you two!" The doctor said shaking his head, rolling his eyes good naturedly.

That only made Euphemia giggle louder, "But did you see his face! It was so funny!"

Haymitch's body was jerking as he tried to surpress his laughter. He pulled the face again, and her face broke into a devious grin followed by another burst of giggles.

The older man put his hands on his hips, staring at his daughter and Haymitch in hysterics, each other's laughter perpetuating the original joke.

"Haymitch is going to be in a lot of pain if I take the stitches out whilst he's moving!"

Two pairs of blue eyes shot round and looked up at him, their faces suddenly solemn. The timing of it was almost comedic.

"I'm just going to take out your arm stitches for now; your abdomen needs a few more days."

Haymitch nodded, "Ok. Thank you Egidio."

Egidio got to work on his arm, Haymitch wincing occassionally as he clipped at the stitches, pulling it out of his tender skin.

"Sorry. . . I would've used the dissolving ones but the Capitol haven't developed ones strong enough yet for wounds this deep. . ."

"You should see what we have to use back home." Haymitch added morosely.

Egidio caught his eyes, giving him a weak smile. He glanced over at his daughter quickly, her hand linked with Haymitch's as it rested on top of the sheets- her eyes dreamy, fixed on the boy's face.

He felt his smile brighten.

*0*0*0*0*0*

"What's your favourite thing about District 12?"

"Probably the people. Everyone tries to look out for each other. What's your favourite thing about the Capitol?"

Euphemia was sat cross-legged by his feet, plaiting her hair into two braids as she considered his question, "Probably the technology. We get nice things from District 3. We don't have many trees here though. Or plants. I've never climbed a tree before."

"What? Never climbed a tree?"

"No." She answered, almost forlornly, tying off her secong plait and tossing it over her shoulder, "It's all dull outside in the Capitol. No green. Maybe that's why everyone wears bright clothes."

She bit her lip for a moment, and Haymitch could see the question rising in her eyes like a balloon, "What?"

"Can I come and visit you in District 12 so you can teach me how to climb trees?"

He looked at her glumly, sighing as his gaze fell to his wrist, gently playing with the knot of the bandage, "Yeah. Of course."

*0*0*0*0*0*

Egidio saw his daughter bolt upright in her bed when she heard the beeping of her father's tag. He was up in a flash, and she was running after him.

"No daddy! No!" He could hear the tears building in her voice, but there was nothing he could do.

He barged through the operating theatre door, Haymitch covering his eyes at the brightness assaulting his eyes.

"Wha-?"

"I'm sorry Haymitch. The Peacekeepers are coming for you. . ."

"What? Why?" He still had his eyes squeezed shut, the light far too bright.

"Daddy, he can't go. . ."

The doctor was flying around the room, filling a syringe and finding his stitch clippers, "I'm sorry, sweetheart. Just go get your shoes and your jacket on ok? Don't worry about getting changed out of your night gown. Slip my shoes out in the corridor too along with the medicine bag, please."

She nodded fervently, a tear fleeing down her cheek, her eyes flicking to Haymitch as she dashed from the room.

He turned his attention back to his patient, his syringe ready, Haymitch recoiling as he hastily removed the bandages.

"Why are they coming for me?"

"Public unrest, they all want to see you alive, so they're going to put you on the next train back to District 12. The cameras, the press, the whole circus. Hold still, I'm going to have to take your stitches out. . .The Capitol wanted you alive, and here you are."

Haymitch lay back, gripping onto the edge of the bed in the absence of a little hand, flinching as Egidio injected him with a little anesthetic, a numbness quickly flooding over his stomach.

"I thought you said these stitches needed a few more days!" Haymitch asked, his face panicked.

"I'd rather give it a little longer but we have no choice, it'll only be asking for trouble if you have to take them out later."

After quickly cutting the stitches and tightly binding a bandage round his waist, he helped the boy out of bed. Egidio supported him as he dressed in some plain, standard issue, black clothes and slip-on shoes. He could just about walk normally, only with a slight hunch as he guarded his stomach with his arm.

Out in the corridor, Euphemia was stood holding her father's shoes and a brown paper bag; her little body wrapped in dark brown fur over her sleep clothes.

Her eyes were wide and fearful, and she reached for her father's hand.

The Peacekeepers had unlocked the double doors at the far end, their faces impassive as they marched towards Haymitch; Egidio's arm tightening a little harder round the boy's shoulders and his daughter's hand.

"We can walk ourselves out, thank you." The doctor said, his voice firm.

The Peacekeepers didn't touch them, instead walking in front and behind them, their hands close to their weapons.

They stepped out of the complex, bright faces everywhere in the darkness as they all kept their heads down, camera flashes reverberating in Haymitch's retinas as they yelled his name, shoving cameras into his face.

_How bad were your injuries?_

_How does it feel to be a winner from District 12?_

_Is there anyone you'd like to thank?_

Haymitch's eyes saw the great steel vessel in front of him- the moving prison- he wanted to go home, but not like this.

With only a few feet left to go, he stopped suddenly in front of his two companions, the Peacekeepers tetchy around them as they tried to keep Haymitch moving.

"I want to thank you." Haymitch felt like he was shouting, the bedlam of the press around him, a little hand worming into his.

The older man simply smiled at him, clapping a hand on his shoulder.

He knelt down briefly, the little girl's eyes streaming, "Don't go. . ."

"You know I have to, I'm sorry. Home awaits me." He said, squeezing her hand a little tighter.

"Would you have to go if you were my boyfriend?"

He laughed at that, unexpected tears welling in the back of his own eyes, "I expect so."

She threw her arms around his neck, trying not to overbalance as the Peacekeepers started to push them forward. She pulled back, thrusting the brown paper bag into his hands.

"Come back and visit?"

He couldn't answer her, and he couldn't look at her again when her heart break registered in her eyes, "Haymitch. . . ?"

"They're instructions in the bag about the medicine! Good luck, and stay safe Haymitch!" He heard Egidio yell, the Peacekeepers grabbing his upper arms, his hand pulled from Euphemia's as he was heaved onto the train, the door slamming shut immediately after him, the shouts from outside muffled.

He ran to the nearest window, pressing his hand against the glass, looking as Euphemia cried into her father's hip, her hand barely raised in a sad wave.

Haymitch felt a bitter sweet sensation creep into his heart. His heart fluttering at the thought of his family. . . but part of him wondered if he'd ever see them again.

His hand shook over his stomach, and he felt himself crumble to the floor as everything hit him. He felt crushed, wiped out and like he was the only one in that arena again. He let himself cry.

* * *

**A/N: **Final chapter shouldn't be long folks. Lots of loveee, Minx xx


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **Welcome, welcome! Sorry Suzanne, I've absconded with your characters, but they are still yours._  
_

**A/N: **Hello everyone! Here's the third and final chapter of this little fic! I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think if you have a spare minutos!

(Also, if you're into all that M-rated shenanigans, look out for my new one-shot, _Injected_, that I should publish later tonight too! ;) )

* * *

_She heard him before she saw him, and despite the vulgar words coming out of his mouth, she could feel her heart rising up her throat. She walked precariously down the steps inside the Halls of Justice, hearing his voice echo in one of the large side chambers. _

_He couldn't be as bad as they made out on TV. It was all for the public; they probably played it up. He would be fine. They would be great. She had come for him, like she always said she would. _

_It'd be so long. Nearly 15 years. _

_Her 7-inch heels clicked across the marble floor towards the archway, her hands nervously smoothing down her dress. . . she released a shaky breath, a million thoughts running through her head. _

_The double doors flew open all of a sudden, a dishevelled, angry Haymitch Abernathy barging out, two Peacekeepers slamming the doors behind him. He was armed with a bottle of amber liquid- most of it gone- along with the lid. Haymitch tossed his long, dank hair out of his face, yelling abuse through the thick wood before turning around and being faced with her._

_Haymitch met her eyes. . . and she nearly recoiled at the hatred burning there. He sneered as he looked her up and down, taking in the bright purple outfit and fluorescent wig. . . before pushing past her towards the stairs. _

_She felt something inside her crack, but followed after him, "Haymitch Abernathy, I'm Effie Trinket, the new District 12 escort-"_

_He spun round, and she could smell the alcohol on his breath, his eyes clouded and unfocused, "Well congratulations, sweetheart, must've been really difficult for you to get this position. . . the esteemed District 12. You want to see the animals before they get slaughtered?"_

_Effie heard the malice in his voice, and she felt her stomach drop like a rock, "I've been selected for the job. I hope you and I can work together."_

_Two other words dissolved on her tongue: It's me. _

_"Oh. . . let me guess. . ." He tapped his chin in faux-thought, "You got the job because you were born into some cushy, high class existence, spent years simpering and sucking up to twisted creeps like Seneca, and because you think you're going to be the next big thing to hit the Capitol. . . I've heard it all before."_

_Her lips were parted, her eyes darting over his face. _

_"You're probably like every escort before you, Effie." He drawled her name out, mocking her, "Empty, brainwashed and taking every opportunity to laugh at me and my District."_

_Haymitch watched her expression change as he moved towards her, from shock to hurt. This one really was a delicate Capitol butterfly. . . she wouldn't last. _

_He came infinitesimally closer, his voice dangerous, "So, Effie Trinket. Keep out of my way."_

_Haymitch started to walk away, but she couldn't let it drop, her hope dying quicker by the second, "I'm not like that. I'm smart, and my manners wouldn't allow that-"_

_He looked back at her briefly, the colour assaulting his eyes again- she was a Capitol girl through and through- "You're no different."_

_The spite pierced her heart._

*0*0*0*0*0*

He was sprawled out flat on the sofa, dragging his hands slowly down his face. It couldn't be her. It just couldn't. His mind was whirring, names and faces spinning behind his eyes.

_Dr Egidio Trinket_

_Trinket. Trinket. Trinket._

_Euphemia. . ._

The little girl with the long blonde hair and the starry blue eyes danced in his mind. . . and he remembered the sadness written across Effie's face the day they first met, when he'd walked away. Well, the day he thought they first met.

It was all a mess. A terrible mess. Part of him wished he'd never opened that file; now he felt like two of his worlds were colliding. Egidio and Euphemia had been a happy blip his life, sandwiched the Games and the hell that he'd been suffering ever since.

Oh god.

*0*0*0*0*0*

She came down from her room, and she realised he'd obviously been dismissed from the Clinic earlier in the morning. He looked a sorry sight, his hands drawing down over his face.

Effie wondered if maybe he was still a little drunk from last night; he'd certainly put enough away to make that a possibility.

Haymitch heard her before he saw her, and she saw him gulp, his eyes not shifting from the ceiling, "I'm sorry Effie."

"You don't even know what you're apologising for." She said bluntly, walking past him towards the dining area.

"I can remember you threw a vase at me, so it must have been bad. You using furniture as a weapon. . . is something I would not expect. Plus I have the souvenir as a reminder." He said, pointing to his battered arm.

He heard her coming back towards him, turning his head as she came and stood in front of him. She was wearing a bright green and white dress with matching heels- ridiculous as always- yet her eyes were challenging and her mouth twisted down with displeasure.

He felt his lungs turn to concrete, he saw her there. . . the mannerisms . . . she was under it all.

"You look exhausted." She said, her voice level, emotionless.

So did she, probably because of him. But he wasn't going to say that. He felt awful, sluggish.

"Despite your drunken ways, I do forget what a way with words you can sometimes have. You came out with some very colourful insults last night."

"I suppose you're not going to repeat them?"

"No. I'm not."

After a beat, she came and perched on the edge of the sofa next to his hip. Her shimmering blue eyes searching his face, "You're a useless man, Haymitch Abernathy." The normal vitriol was drained from her voice. Now, she just sounded tired, "We all want the best for you. I hope you understand that."

Haymitch nodded, swallowing. He felt that terrible feeling rise up in him again like a heavy bubble- guilt.

"I know. I'm sorry." She looked taken aback by his apology- the second one in minutes- it actually sounded sincere. She covered her shock well as he continued, "Look, I know I get on your nerves sometimes-"

She gave him a pointed look.

"Ok, well, _most_ of the time. . . but I know you care about me to some extent, even if it is to keep this team semi-mediagenic-"

"I just want to make sure there's no vomit on the carpet." Her eyes betrayed her voice.

Haymitch shrugged, "The feelings are mutual, if you're wondering."

"The getting on your nerves or the caring?"

"The nerves." He smiled at his own joke.

She smiled back at that, one that reached her eyes for a moment.

"I don't care about you Haymitch, it'd just be nice to see you _living_-"

"You do, and you know you do."

She looked slightly affronted, but she didn't question him. She looked away, something surfacing in her eyes. Vulnerability. Secrets. Remembrance.

"Well, I'm glad we sorted that one out." She added sadly.

He sucked in a breath, her eyes glittering and the shape of her lips- elegantly curved in a troubled frown.

"What did you think when you first met me?"

Effie looked confused, it was so unlike him to question her, but she acquiesced, "I'd heard you'd got a bit of a reputation, the District's drunk. But I was still excited to meet you, I'd seen you on TV. . ."

"No. . ." He whispered, "When you _first _met me."

He saw her eyes widen almost imperceptibly, and his breath caught in his throat as he waited for her to say it, his heart pounding through his skin

"I saw your father's name in my medical notes."

He could see Effie's breath grow shallower; her eyes bright with pain.

She stood up and started to walk away, "The Halls of Justice. That was the first time, Haymitch."

He pushed himself off the sofa, grabbing her arm and yanking her around to face him. She looked shocked, their faces inches apart.

"Why can't you tell me the truth Effie? Can you not give me that?" His voice came out harshly, but she could see the desperation in his eyes.

"I don't know what you're talking about Haymitch!" Her walls were crumbling, and she tried to shake her arm free from his grip.

"Tell me you were her! Don't make me feel more insane than I already am!"

She shook her head, her shining eyes never leaving his, "I can't."

"Did you know I looked for you when I first became a mentor? I tried to find you. There's no trace of you- no one's heard of you or your father, and I thought you'd been killed! I thought you were _dead_. The amazing, beautiful little girl who looked after me when I thought it was all over!"

Effie finally broke her arm free and she stared up at him, her lips parted and tears brewing in her eyes, "You. . . what?"

Haymitch tried to reign his emotions, but his body and voice were shaking, "I spoke to every official, went to every register office that would allow a District 12 citizen to look at their records, search their databases. . . you were gone."

Effie bit her lip, a single tear dropping from her eye; her china doll make up was cracked, ". . . I'm sorry, I tried to tell you-"

He stepped back, his voice thick, "Why didn't you say anything?"

Haymitch saw Euphemia on the platform all over again, another tear falling, "I thought that you might recognise me when we first met but. . . why would you? I was so different as a child. I _looked_ so different. . . We both changed."

Effie moved towards him, tried to reach out and touch him, he jerked away, putting more space between them.

They were both still for a moment, Haymitch's breath coming out in shuddering waves; Effie silently crying.

"You were special, you know?"

She nodded softly, and he watched how she squeezed her eyes shut tight, as if she was willing to make it all go away.

He felt his heart grow sick as he walked off.

*0*0*0*0*0*

Haymitch woke up later on in the afternoon in the middle of his bed, everything silent apart from the noise of the Capitol outside like a dull ache. His arms were wrapped round himself protectively, the hangover had burnt off a little, but he felt worse than he did before.

One of the few people he'd ever really connected with. . . a little girl he'd searched for. . .

He closed his eyes, grief clasping holding of his breath. Every feeling from the Games, her, his family rising to the surface. Haymitch couldn't do this again.

He felt empty. As if his soul was seeping out from him.

Haymitch saw a shadow at his door. Effie. She'd stripped her make-up, her eyes red, her blonde hair falling out its pins. It pained him how beautiful she looked, how unfair this all was.

She walked over to his bed, slipped off her shoes, and lay next to him without asking.

They were facing each other, not speaking for a few seconds as they studied each other's blue eyes- sky and sea meeting on the horizon.

"You have a right to be angry with me, I know. I didn't realise. . ."

She sighed to herself, disappointed.

"Why couldn't I find you?"

"I made a new life for myself. The Capitol gave that to me. I thought it was a blessing but-"

Her eyes fell to her fingers that were gently playing on a loose bit of string from his bedding- pulling, unraveling.

"You told me you were going to be a doctor."

"I know. I was. It's what I loved doing."

"Why didn't you?"

"My father, he. . . he committed suicide after the 60th Hunger Games. . . he was unable to save the victor and he got to himself before they did-"

"What?" Haymitch choked out.

Effie caught his eyes, and he could see something hidden, shining and scared, "What happened Effie?"

He saw a look rise within her that unnerved him- the fear passing- dark and vengeful, "The Capitol aren't kind to all their citizens you know."

Haymitch felt something surge in him, instinctively wanting to pull her closer. He remained stock still though as he watched her thoughts flicker behind her eyes.

She mashed her lips together, breathing through her nose, "You know the victor that died after the 42nd Hunger Games? Ursule Erable? I only found out recently, but her surgeon's hands were chopped off. . . and then he was executed immediately afterwards by Peacekeepers. . . in that operating theatre. The rioting that stemmed from Ursule's death didn't die down for months. . ."

She licked her lips, pale and pink.

"Very few people knew what actually happened to that surgeon though- my father was one of those people who actually discovered his fate. My father. . . he was the best emergency surgeon in the city once that surgeon died. . . and he was brought in by the government as the Games Surgeon every year. I never understood why he was so scared. . . They made him bring me every year and I think he was worried they would punish him through me. As I got older though, they started to realise my worth. . . that I might become a surgeon too."

She had to stop, pausing for a moment and gulp back the tears.

"I remember standing outside that great glass window, the heart monitor slowing, he turned to me, his hands covered in blood . . . the look in his eyes it-"

Haymitch watched as a lone tear escaped from the corner of her eye, and she wiped it away quickly, not meeting his gaze.

"I didn't know what would happen if one of them died, but my father had spent years so fearful, trying to avoid it. . . as soon as it happened I knew the consequences would be terrible. I banged and banged at the glass, crying, begging my father to let me in. Then I saw him pull a pill from inside the stitching of his sleeve. . . He put his hand against the glass, and I felt like I was going to be sick. I realised I was about to lose the last thing on the planet I truly loved when I put my hand on top of his."

She looked at him now, her eyes puffy, "They spared me. I convinced them I wasn't cut out for medical school. I didn't want to go through what my father did- what if I wanted a family too? I couldn't give them that chance to take that away from me. I told them I was desperate to go back to school. . . I thought I was free. . ."

Haymitch thought back to their conversations over a decade ago. _Things seem different when you get older. _She'd been so clever, so natural. . . so full of innocent hope. They'd taken that from her. She'd turned into everything she hated, just to survive.

He knew the feeling.

"My father, ruined and murdered, would've been erased off the records. It would be like he never existed. It's what happens when you annoy the government, you just. . . disappear. They took me off the register too- as a threat. If I stepped out of line, they could make me vanish just as easily, and no one would know. "

She let out a bitter laugh; another tear dotting his pillow.

"I didn't tell you it was me. . . because I was ashamed. Ashamed at myself. No family, aged 17, I went to one of those fancy Capitol fashion schools and got swept up in it all. I became Effie- the Capitol coquette- like one of those girls who used to laugh at me at school. The cliques, the blinding colours, the special parties. . . I thought I was top of it all. In my final year, I got invited to one of those sponsor parties- all the big names were there, drinking cocktails and passing money around as kids bludgeon each other to death on a big screen. I'd feel sick and scared, but only for a moment. . . then I'd receive a mink fur pouch or something else from an admirer across the room, and the sickness would pass. I thought I was playing the Capitol. . . the girl whose father had been killed by them was going to become powerful and successful."

Effie drew in a hiccoughing breath, "I vowed I'd never work for the government after my father's death. But Snow had enticed me without me realising, the low class Capitol girl mesmerised by all those pretty things. . . Some of his disciples charmed me. I was young and easily influenced. . . They said I _would make the best escort ever! You'll shoot straight to the top! It'll be so glamorous! _ I was stupid enough to believe them, believe they would treat me differently from my father. I got the job at District 12, and I was so excited to see you, the first time I got off that train. . ."

Effie searched his eyes, waiting for some kind of response- anything. Haymitch stared back at her, his eyes impassive. She felt her heart sink when he looked down.

Shifting almost interceptibly closer, she touched her hand to his face.

Her voice was so quiet, he could almost feel it in her breath more than hear it,"Snow had let me go. . . just to laugh when I would walk back in willingly. When I saw you. . . it all hit home. I realised how angry my father would be, how angry you would be. . . at what I'd turned into. And I hated myself for it."

Effie's heart raced, her whole being on edge, whilst she waited for something, anything.

Haymitch slowly met her eyes, and what she saw there sucked all the air from her body. He reached up and gently pushed her soft hair from her face, studying the angelic structure that was always hidden beneath the make-up, beneath the lie she'd been forced into. She trembled at the gesture, trying to squeeze the tears from her eyes when he wriggled closer to her.

She released a quaking breath when he pressed a lingering kiss into her hair, and she pulled hold of his shirt, her eyes closed as she kissed his neck, her lips resting there.

He had wanted the truth. He had wanted Effie's truth. And it turned out, they were the same thing.

"You don't have to be strong all the time, you know." He murmured into her hair.

She let out a breath of a laugh, which was followed an overwhelming desire to cry again as she nuzzled further into him, "I can deal with hate better than disappointment. I couldn't see that memory crushed. . . not you. . . it's the only thing I have-"

"You haven't disappointed anyone Effie."

He could feel her warm tears in his shirt, her face buried out of sight, "My father. . ."

"No." He cut in gently,"He wouldn't be."

A shuddering breath was followed by a quiet sniff, and he felt her calm in his arms. Something shifted, and they felt the world slowing for a moment- for the boy and the girl in the bed.

* * *

**A/N: **I'm just a big ball of feels just orbiting the Hayffie globe! Hope you all liked it. . . and maybe see some of you later. . . Minx will have her minx on! ;) (Love Minx xxxxx)

*Bonus shout-out for someone called "theinfalliblesnaps" on tumblr who quoted a bit from my last chapter _literally_ as soon I finished proof reading this one. Hayffie makes the world go round. 3


End file.
